10/01/2025
๐ด๓ ง๓ ข๓ ท๓ ฌ๓ ณ๓ ฟ ๐ ๐ง๏ธ ๐ผ โฐ๏ธ
In Wales, where valleys whisper low,
Where hills with ancient echoes grow,
The rain may pour, the winds may howl,
But beauty here, they can't endow.
The slate-grey clouds that skim the sky,
Cast shadows where the mountains lie,
A mist that wraps the rolling moors,
Still frames a land that I adore.
When torrents lash the windowpane,
And pathways turn to streams again,
The soul of Cymru still does shine,
In every brook and twisted pine.
The castles draped in raindrop veils,
The lush green fields, the winding trails,
All speak of tales in weathered stone,
Of heroes, bards, and hearts of home.
The sea's wild rage upon the shore,
The songs of storms, an ancient lore,
Each droplet tells a story vast,
Of Cymru's present, future, past.
The daffodils in wind may sway,
Yet golden still, they greet the day,
For even when the skies are bleak,
In Wales, it's beauty that we seek.
So let the weather do its worst,
In Cymru's heart, we're always versed,
In finding splendour, come what may,
For Wales is wondrous, every day
